


An Interlude

by Lohrendrell



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Dialogue, Obligatory post-non-Armageddon fic, some bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lohrendrell/pseuds/Lohrendrell
Summary: The world almost ended, but didn’t, and now they were going to in its place. In the hours following the non-Armageddon and previous to their respective trials-and-probable-execution, Aziraphale and Crowley had to hide and prepare. The small blue family home for one was far from the perfect hiding spot, but they would have to make do.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 12





	An Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything non-academical in more than a year! I feel rusty. But these two just give too many feels, how could I resist? <3

The bus that said “Oxford” on the front ended up actually going to Oxford. Aziraphale made sure of it by not doing anything at all, except convincing Crowley to not mess with the driver’s mind. He supposed it would be too much for a human to survive the end of the world and then drive through the wrong route on the same day. If he could remember those two things, that is. But still. Despite his recent experiences with inhabiting the small, shared space of an already tiny body, presencing stopped Time, conversing with The Antichrist and facing Satan himself, Aziraphale hadn’t lost his compassion.

Besides, “We don’t want to make us any easier to track, will we?” he pointed out, to which Crowley grunted in protest, but complied anyway.

Their stop was at one of those tacky yet comforting residential neighborhoods people of the Twenty-First Century seemed incredibly keen to. They had to walk quite a bit to their destination and Crowley made sure to complain about it every two blocks or so. He didn’t ask where Aziraphale was taking them, though, and that was a relief. Aziraphale, for his part, was glad to be able to just walk for a while and appreciate the pretty houses that adorned the well-kept sidewalks. Sometimes laughter or chattering from the telly could be heard from some of those homes, which was soothing in its own strange way. Far from Tadfield and its air base, it seemed that life didn’t change so much. As if nothing had ever happened whatsoever.

“Looks like everything is back to its rightful place,” Crowley commented idly, bringing Aziraphale back from his thoughts.

“You’ve been here before?”

“No. But I can feel it.”

“What do you feel?”

“Nothing at all. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Aziraphale got what he meant. “Anyone following us?” he asked after some more walking, almost muttering it.

“No.”

“Oh, good. Because this is us.”

He pointed to a small blue house. The small blue family home for one, as Aziraphale liked to think of it. The most modest little house in the entire street, but beautiful nonetheless. He had purchased it somewhere around sixty or seventy years ago, partly on a whim because it was very, very adorable, and partly because he went through this whole phase of thinking he should have his own place to stay. Besides the bookshop, that is. The thought of sitting down with a book in a quiet residential neighborhood after closing the shop of the evening was just too appealing. He couldn’t resist.

“You never told me you had your own place,” said Crowley.

“Don’t speak so loud,” said Aziraphale. “Well, I do. Haven’t visited in forty years, sadly.” Turns out, the thought of having to close the bookshop in the evening _and then_ having to go all the way to a residential neighborhood just to read a book wasn’t so appealing, once one had the means to do it. He had a perfectly good chair at the store, after all. “Such a shame, huh? Such a pretty little place.”

Crowley shrugged, grumbling something Aziraphale didn’t understand and thought best to ignore. He fumbled with the porcelain gnomes and other garden decorations he had left in the threshold.

“You don’t have the keys to your own place?”

“I stopped carrying them years ago. Can’t even remember where I kept them. They probably got burned at this point.”

“How come you don’t have the keys to your own place?”

“No, I know I have a spare set here somewhere.”

“Ugh. I’ll open it.”

“No, Crowley, if you wait just a minute—”

“Lemme do it, come on.”

“Just be patient, dear. I know I left the spare set under one of these gnomes. I’m quite certain of it.”

“It probably got stolen already.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Forty years? It did.”

“It didn’t! I blessed the gnomes.”

“Angel, c’mon. It’ll be quick, no one will notice it.”

“No, Crowley, I said no.”

“Ugh, Aziraphale!”

“No. No! Oh, there it is. I knew I was right.” He smiled at Crowley, who was scowling. “Is somebody watching us?”

“Not on my side. Yours?”

“I can’t see or sense anyone. Here. After you.”

His small blue family home for one hadn’t changed at all in those forty years. Aziraphale hadn’t done much to the decoration when he bought it; the white and light blue and cream were just too lovely, that kind of lovely that was so only because of the great care the previous owner had put into decorating that tiny little place. He hadn’t had the heart to change anything about it.

“This looks like an old Elizabethan-era lady’s house,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale decided he would ignore the mocking tone.

“If I recall correctly, the couple who sold it to me did mention it belonged to the late great-grandma of one side of the family. Here, help me with the curtains. Check if they are all closed. Anyone watching us?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Aziraphale.”

“You didn’t even look outside.”

“All right, all right.” Crowley peered up outside, making a show of it. Aziraphale had the impression he was just making fun of his concern, given the way Crowley took his time watching the empty dark street, but he didn’t care. They were being hunted, or were going to be hunted shortly. They needed to hide and prepare, and be smart about it. Better be safe than sorry.

“Let’s not turn on the lights,” Aziraphale said, following that line of thinking. “I hope you’re not hungry. I don’t think there is anything in the kitchen.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Aziraphale clasped his hands together in front of his belly. He fumbled with his fingers. So far, he had only been thinking about getting somewhere safe. And that was pretty much what he thought about. “What do we do now?”

“We wait, of course.”

“Better keep the lights shut.”

They moved to the tiny living room, sat on the couch, side by side, silent, looking at the pitch black furniture. Aziraphale could tell Crowley was tired. He almost never got tired, but when he did, he could sleep for decades. Searching inside himself, Aziraphale didn’t find any hints of exhaustion — on the contrary, he felt alight, painfully energized with something uncomfortable. He wondered if Crowley wanted to go to sleep.

“I never registered this home,” said Aziraphale eventually, for a lack of conversation topics. “At Head Office, I mean.”

“Why?”

“Lots of paperwork, and I was busy with the shop. And then I stopped coming here and… Well, I always told myself to get around and do it already, but then Head Office didn’t even seem to mind if I had one or zero or a thousand places registered, so. I never did. Suppose it’s a strike of luck, all things considered.”

“Suppose so.”

He smiled at Crowley, able to see him quite well even through the darkness surrounding them. Aziraphale had a brief moment of relief seeing Crowley by his side, but it was soon followed by that dreadful feeling again when he associated Crowley, and darkness, and all they represented together in the near future.

“Does that make you feel better?” Aziraphale tried to keep the conversation going.

“What?”

“That I never registered the place.”

He heard more than felt Crowley moving on the couch. He wasn’t looking at the demon anymore; he couldn’t. “Couldn’t care less, angel. Won’t stop them for very long, y’know. Soon they’ll get their hands on us and we’ll have to face whatever it is they’re preparing for us.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale was pretty sure he was failing at his attempt to smile. “Yes. I know.”

A pause.

“Do you think they are watching us now?”

“For He— For somebody’s sake, Aziraphale, no! No one is watching us, stop asking that.”

“Stop yelling, no need for you to yell! I don’t want to us to be heard.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” countered Crowley, though he lowered his tone of voice.

“Yes, you were.”

“All right, all right. Nobody’s following us, or watching us, or hunting us, or whatever it is that you have your mind wrapped around. They are waiting, and they are gonna keep waiting until we appear to them. They aren’t gonna make any move tonight, all right?”

Aziraphale didn’t know how Crowley could be so sure, but then again, between them the two of them, he was the one with experience on both sides. “All right,” he said, quietly.

“And stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“This— This thing. This thing you do with your fingers, fidgeting like that. It’s annoying. Stop it.”

“I wasn’t doing such a thing.”

“Yes, you were.”

“…All right.”

He untangled his fingers, accepting defeat, and let his hands fall on his lap. It was hard to keep them there and without it, Aziraphale could feel that crippling feeling crawling up inside him, through his human guts, towards his extremities.

“We…” He started again, after some time. Darkness and silence was just too much. “We must choose our faces wisely.”

“Yep.”

Those words were puzzling at first, but now they knew exactly what they needed to do. They had talked about it a bit on the bus stop at Tadfield, and a little more inside the bus. Quietly, between whispers and half words, carefully constructing their plan between gazes and meaningful motions, because Aziraphale was too afraid that they were being watched or heard. They were in public, after all. Now they weren’t. But still… 

“Quite the clever woman, that Agnes Nutter. Don’t you think?”

“Yep.”

“Did you ever get to meet her?”

“No. Did you?”

“No. Didn’t know about her existence until I heard about her book.” A pause. Crowley didn’t say anything. “Quirky, isn’t it? To not know someone at all but they know all about you? Know how to save you?”

“Hmm.”

“Suppose that’s how humans must feel. With… Y’know, with us. And… Heaven and… Y’know…”

“Alcohol.”

“Huh?”

“I’d go with some alcohol. Do you have any here? Any kind?”

“Uhm. No.” He closed his hands tightly, wrapping his fingers together once more and trying to do it in a way Crowley wouldn’t notice. His thoughts were far away from alcohol at that point. “Sorry.”

Crowley sputtered. Aziraphale could hear the exasperation in his voice. “Figures. The world almost ended just now and here we are, trapped in a pitch-black old lady’s _lair_ of kittens and muffins and whatever, waiting for upcoming punishment, and you won’t even let me conjure a bottle of fucking wine.”

“I’m really sorry, my dear. I wish I had prepared.”

“Er, it’s all right,” said Crowley, even though Aziraphale was sure it wasn’t, could hear it, could feel it, had to _wait_ for it. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll just wait for now, and in the morning we’ll—”

“Don’t say it out loud.”

“I know, I know. Relax. And stop fumbling with your fingers, don’t make me repeat myself again.”

“I am relaxed, Crowley!” Aziraphale tried not to scream it. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. “Don’t tell me to relax. You don’t get to tell me to relax. Not in a moment like this.”

The room fell silent for a couple of moments. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s gaze on him. The silence, the gaze, the pitch-black, the lack of food, of miracles and speak freely — it was suffocating more than anything.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley called. He didn’t answer. “Aziraphale?”

Crowley scooted closer. Aziraphale was resolute on not look at him, not tear his gaze away from his own hands. He would fumble with his fingers as much as he liked, to — somewhere — with Crowley’s annoyance.

“Angel, I didn’t mean to—” He felt Crowley’s hand tapping his vests, his arm, almost as if he couldn’t see in the dark (which Aziraphale knew it wasn’t the case), or as if he didn’t know where to touch. Finally, he decided to go for Aziraphale’s hands. “Oh, angel, you’re shaking. No, don’t— no need for that. Here, come here.”

“No need to,” said Aziraphale, weak. Unconvincing.

“Come on already.”

He didn’t have enough willpower to avert the tug, not with the crippling dread that he couldn’t shake away. Accepting he was trembling, Aziraphale let himself be dragged and accepted with no words the cocoon of Crowley’s arms.

“I didn’t know you were shaking,” said Crowley as he adjusted their positions. “Angel, why are you shaking so much?” He had them laying on the couch, Aziraphale on his chest. He rested his chin on the top of Aziraphale’s head. Never, not in millenia, had he seen Crowley hugging anything, or talking so softly. Aziraphale didn’t have strength to be disconcerted over that. The world almost ended, but didn’t, and now they were going to in its place.

“Do you think someone is watching us now?” Aziraphale asked, whispering it.

“No. No one is watching us. I’m sure of it,” Crowley whispered back. They talked in whispers.

“But they will.”

“Eventually, yes.”

“What is it like… down there? Can you tell me?”

The pause he had to face before Crowley’s answer was unsettling, at minimum. Aziraphale didn’t like it, it didn’t help at all.

“You know Heaven, but I’ve never… I don’t— I don’t think I—”

“Dark,” Crowley answered finally. “Much like this, here, now, but less comfortable. And humid. And stuffy. Some busted pipes, terrible smell. You won’t want to go licking any walls, even if someone tells you to.” Even without seeing him, Aziraphale knew Crowley was making a face. “You won’t like it,” Crowley finished, almost inaudible.

Aziraphale nodded. It was good to know what to expect. It made it… less… unsettling, perhaps.

“Gabriel will be… Well, he will be…”

“A knob.”

“Aggravating. Unrelentess.”

“In other words, a knob.”

Aziraphale tittered faintly. He whispered a few scenarios that he imagined, educating Crowley on what he might find up in Heaven and how to behave so as to not give away any clues. Crowley nodded every once in a while, and Aziraphale had the impression he was just humouring him.

“Do you think I’m gonna Fall?” he asked, some time later, after they had exchanged all kinds of advice they could think of. He’d spent too much time in Crowley’s arms already, but the terror wouldn’t let him get up.

“Is that what you’re so afraid of?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer.

“Why would you Fall?” Crowley tried laughing it off, but Aziraphale saw — heard — right through it. “Angel, you couldn’t do anything wrong that would cause you to Fall.”

That wasn’t true. “I doubted.”

“Huh?”

“Before I discorporated. And a little after that. She wouldn’t speak to me. Everything I tried failed. I doubted.” After millennia serving as the ears of The Almighty for the repentant, Aziraphale thought he knew what humans felt when confessing. He found he was wrong, very wrong, for he spilled his words as if they were drops of water, so many of them that they flooded his mouth, leaving him unable to stop them. He couldn’t keep them in anymore. Fancy, an Angel confessing to a Demon. Impending doom, indeed. If not before, now for sure. “I doubted Her, I doubted The Plan, I doubted it all. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. And I asked questions.”

He could feel Crowley gulping. “Why do you think you’re gonna Fall because of it?”

“Isn’t that why you Fell?” Aziraphale snapped. “I’ve heard you talk when you’re drunk, Crowley. More than once.

Crowley didn’t answer.

Aziraphale didn’t push it.

“I never learned how to waltz. If… If I don’t… If they don’t… I’m gonna learn how to waltz, for sure. It can’t be too difficult, can it? I’ll… I’ll come here more often.”

Crowley didn’t comment. They fell in silence again for a long time. Neither moved, except for Crowley tightening his grip on Aziraphale.

“He reseted everything,” Crowley pointed out, eventually. “The kid.”

“You think so?”

“It’s possible. I was thinking here. Wouldn’t make sense otherwise. The world is at peace — or, well, free Armageddon-kind of disarray as far as I can see and feel. The forces of… our respective sides are not in this field, they’re probably plotting our demise. And we are here. No interference whatsoever in the world. The humans are truly free from it for the first time in six thousand years,” Crowley mused.

“I hope the bookshop is all right.”

“Better get my Bentley back.”

“Do you think he got everything right?”

“Better so,” Crowley snarled, and proceeded to detail everything he wanted to see back in the Bentley. That did the trick: Aziraphale’s trembling slowly diminished as he listened to Crowley’s ridiculous list of demands for his Bentley.

It was already morning when Aziraphale started feeling a little better. Well, “better” wasn’t a good word for it. He felt less worse. Less terrified. Crowley took his (unshaking) hand. Unmoving, they followed Agnes Nutter’s advice. Not once had they uttered their plans out loud, but communicated in codes. They were on the same page on this. It had to work out.

It was a matter of seconds for Aziraphale to go from laying there, being held, to feeling his own weight in his chest. He had been looking at the wooden chair on the other side of the room, but now was contemplating the cream curtains that were just starting to receive the first flashes of sunlight. He suspected Crowley slipped something extra in the exchange, or maybe left it in his own body, something that made Aziraphale not feel so anxious anymore. He felt rather… uncaring. Concentrated.

They got up. Left the house. Crowley locked the door behind them and kept the keys in his — Aziraphale’s — pocket. They contemplated each other for a moment.

“I’ll meet you at the park,” Aziraphale heard his own voice say.

“Yes,” he answered, though it was Crowley who he heard speak.

They miracled themselves in London, in different places.


End file.
